


paid my dues, time after time

by sabrina_il (marina)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Team Russia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/pseuds/sabrina_il
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It used to be Zhenya who did the comforting. It's time for payback.</p>
            </blockquote>





	paid my dues, time after time

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS. I had SO MANY FEELINGS about Ovi/Geno and NO IDEA how to write fic about them processing their shit. I went on a walk and listened to ALL THE HEARTWRETCHING SONGS (if you're wondering my personal PLAYLIST OF RUSSIA LOSS WOE is [God's Gonna Cut You Down](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJlN9jdQFSc&feature=kp), [We Are The Champions](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04854XqcfCY), [Vivat Korol'](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEnz2nrwrrA), [Counting Bodies Like Sheep](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=giaZnIr-faM) and [The Unforgiven II](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-Bn_kD6QN4&feature=kp). NO REGRETS. )
> 
> Anyway, after like an hour of that music on repeat I definitely had a lot of FEELINGS and out of all the possible fics I guess I chose to write this one.
> 
> Beta and moral support by the inestimable Roga.

When Sasha was 19 he lost a gold medal game to Canada in front of twelve thousand people. And then he had to go up and shake Sidney Crosby’s hand, and he held it together through that, but he fell apart afterwards, and Zhenya put his arm around him and held him close and let Sasha soak the front of his jersey. 

And now he’s 28 and it’s Sochi, and they just lost and the locker room is nearly empty, everyone having shuffled out after the yelling and the speeches and the hugging and the oppressive, soul crushing quiet. And Sasha’s taking longer than he should to get dressed, stalling until he has to face the world again, and Zhenya’s still in the showers. 

Sasha finishes buttoning down his shirt and hangs his jacket up on the hook above his seat and goes back to the showers. The floor is wet and there’s steam on the mirrors and Sasha’s shoes weren’t made with this kind of heat and moisture in mind but fuck, none of that matters because there’s Zhenya, sitting on the floor, elbows on his drawn up knees, staring at nothing in particular. 

“Come on, get off the floor,” Sasha says, quietly, coming closer and extending a hand. Except Zhenya isn’t sitting on the floor at all. He’s sitting on his towel. Of course, Zhenya’s too sensible to sit on cold white tile, even when he’s this messed up. 

“Get out,” Zhenya says, making it a request instead of an order probably because he knows Sasha could easily get someone from the medical staff in here. “I just… I need some space.”

“OK,” Sasha says. “But can’t you have it in the dressing room? Everyone’s gone, and there are benches. And clothes.”

Zhenya finally stops staring at the same spot to look up at Sasha with a murderous glare. 

“Fine,” Sasha says, going to his knees before settling next to Zhenya. His pants are totally fucking ruined. 

Zhenya eyes him with a mix of surprise and wariness. His eyes are puffy and red from crying, his hair sticking wetly to face, making him look like a kid. 

They stare at each other for a moment before Sasha wraps an arm around Zhenya’s neck, pulling his head down and cradling him against his shoulder. Zhenya doesn’t protest, doesn’t cry, doesn’t try to turn away or get closer to Sasha. He just breathes quietly, and Sasha breathes with him. 

“Fucking Finland,” Sasha says, because that’s all he’s got left in him right now, after the press and Masha’s phone call, and his mom’s and the thought of how many times in his life he’s going to have to rehash publicly what just happened. 

Zhenya nods, digging his chin into Sasha’s shoulder. 

“Going back to Pittsburgh?” Sasha says, knowing it’s a dumb question even before the words leave his mouth. 

“Don’t know,” Zhenya says, shrugging. 

Yeah, Sasha doesn’t know either. Everything’s waiting for them on the other side of the locker room doors. They’re done with the press for today, at least, but there’ll be fans and family and the thought of tomorrow. 

“Thanks,” Zhenya says, suddenly, voice surer, sounding more like his usual self. “For talking to the reporters. I just--I couldn’t even--”

“Hey,” Sasha slaps him lightly on the arm that’s not leaned against Sasha’s body. “No worries.” He can do this, now. He can talk to reporters and take the heat even when shit of this colossal magnitude happens. He’s a captain and media person and he’s learned to accept that some people are less comfortable with this stuff than he is. Zhenya did his best - his fucking best, God knows - as they all did, Sasha doesn’t mind shouldering the stuff he’s better at off the ice. 

Fuck, but they do have to get off this freezing tile. They’ve got the rest of their lives to be fucked up about this, Zhenya can wallow while he puts some clothes on. 

“Come on,” Sasha says, getting up and dragging Zhenya with him. 

Zhenya goes along with it, pulling Sasha into a hug as soon as they’re both upright. Zhenya’s still, somehow, wet all over, and he leaves wet patches on Sasha’s shirt and the front of his pants and Sasha pulls him in even closer anyway. 

“It’ll get better,” Sasha whispers, because he has to believe that it will.

“Yeah,” Zhenya whispers back, and Sasha can tell he’s trying to cling to the words with equal desperation. 

“Come on,” Sasha says, pulling away and taking a step towards the locker room. “My girlfriend’s waiting for me, go put on some boxers. You can be naked and sad with Crosby when we crush you in the playoffs.”

“You wish,” Zhenya says, cracking a small, momentary smile, before walking past Sasha into the locker room.

**Author's Note:**

> For further Geno/Ovi feels - [PICTORIAL EVIDENCE](http://marina.dreamwidth.org/1263528.html).


End file.
